


tender hearts and tender joints

by iamnotalizard



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Co-Chiefs Doing Politics Together, Comfort, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Gentleness, Getting Old but Being Vaguely Happy About It, M/M, trans Bato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/pseuds/iamnotalizard
Summary: Hakoda doesn’t know when he got so old. When all the years that he’s lived finally caught up with him, when the distance he’s travelled finally clawed its way back to his body, when all the weight that he’s carried over the years finally started to settle between his joints and in the lines on his face. Hakoda feels ancient in a way he’s never felt before, feels like the icebergs that stand older than anyone in the tribe that gets worn away, year after year.
Relationships: Bato/Hakoda (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: MMEU Winter Solstice Exchange 2020





	tender hearts and tender joints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colorfulmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulmagic/gifts).



> vaguely based on the request for "Early morning/late night [...] Dancing"

Hakoda doesn’t know when he got so old. When all the years that he’s lived finally caught up with him, when the distance he’s travelled finally clawed its way back to his body, when all the weight that he’s carried over the years finally started to settle between his joints and in the lines on his face. Hakoda feels ancient in a way he’s never felt before, feels like the icebergs that stand older than anyone in the tribe that gets worn away, year after year. The gentle currents become a saw blade against their frozen faces. They stand motionless and unchanged, yet during the quietest nights, Hakoda can hear the ice cracking in the distance. 

Hakoda isn’t sure why he never felt like this during the war, during all the late nights and early mornings, during the days he spent trying to keep his men alive or mourning for those who died. He didn’t feel young, then, but he didn’t feel old, not as he does now, with his slowly greying hair and aching bones. 

He thinks that Bato wears his years better. His tall, lanky form seems to shoulder the age better than Hakoda can. The deepening crow's feet around his eyes make him look refined, instead of world-weary. The streaks of white in his hair shine through the dark brown, like hidden strands of silver have been braided in, precious and beautiful, just like Bato. 

Despite Sokka and Katara’s teasing, neither of them really think that Hakoda and Bato are old, even if Hakoda can’t remember the names of their friends for the life of him, or if Bato doesn’t understand all the new Earth Kingdom slang that they’ve picked up. Kanna still refers to Hakoda as ‘her boy’, despite - or maybe because of - the fact that he’s been Chief for nearly twenty years now. 

Still, Hakoda never quite feels as old as he does in the early mornings when the sun is still sleeping beneath the horizon, and the cool tendrils of the arctic night have slithered into his bed, chilling the tips of his toes and making a home for itself in the space between his bones. Even as old as he is, Hakoda still fights off consciousness, burying his face in the warmth of furs and the soft plane of Bato’s chest. The rumbling of Bato’s daily morning laughter at Hakoda’s antics tickling his cheek, almost lulling him back to sleep. The sensation is pleasant and always surprising despite it’s growing familiarity. It’s the comfort of it that finally makes Hakoda pry his eyes open, blinking through candlelight to get his first look at Bato for the day.

Climbing out from their warm bubble, the pocket of space and time that they’ve carved out just of them, is hard, and the chill biting at Hakoda’s skin doesn’t help. He tries not to complain, after all, Bato is the one who has to rub salves on scarred skin and wrap thick bandages over his joints to feel a few moments of relief during the day. Still, Hakoda’s feigned apathy to the creaks in his wrists and knees is no match to Bato’s keen observation when it comes to him and rarely does a morning truly start without Bato pressing a kiss to Hakoda’s hand as they get ready. 

Hair is brushed and braided while thinking of only love for one another, faces are washed, and fires in the main living space are lit so that Sokka, Katara and Kanna can wake up to a warm home. 

They step outside, into the shaded morning, and trudge their way towards the council hall. Even while the rest of the village sleeps, there’s business to be done before Kanna wakes up and starts cooking breakfast. If they get enough done, they might be able to kick the snow off their boots just in time to see the first the rest of their family sitting down for breakfast. 

Reaching the council hall is always an anxious moment, as Bato quickly walks around the perimeter and Hakoda goes inside to see if any messenger hawks have frozen to death during the night. They’ve tried to tell other nations that the birds aren’t equipped to survive unattended, that they needed to switch to a polar bird. They must have sent dozens of letters, reiterating that temperate birds cannot be sent to tundra conditions, but no one seems to listen. After a few minutes, Bato enters and Hakoda lets out a sigh of relief that no one has sent them letters during the night. 

They get started on the day's work, trying to hammer out as much bureaucracy and pencil-pushing as they can before the day really begins. It’s mind-numbing at best and near-infuriating at worst. Often, Hakoda is pulled out of the rhythm of signing documents by the sound of Bato’s yawns and sighs of annoyance.

“You don’t have to be here,” Hakoda says, not looking up from his seemingly never shrinking pile of work.

“I know,” Bato replies without fail. 

Slowly, the village wakes up, and the noise of preparing breakfast and starting the day float through the halls of the council building. Hakoda and Bato look at each other, and glance at the mountain of work left to be done. Bato shrugs and stands up, stretching his back as he does. 

Hakoda doesn’t miss being away from home, but he often thinks about their time in the Earth Kingdom, how the unfamiliar heat made them shed their furs and layers, how Bato’s tunics would always fall more open than he desired, and about the flashes of dark skin that he saw whenever Bato stretched or moved too quickly. Hakoda doesn’t miss being away from home, but he sometimes misses the casual glimpses of his lover’s body outside their house. 

The walk back home for breakfast makes Hakoda realize how hungry he is, and, just as expected, they’re tapping off their boots just in time to see a groggy Katara bring out bowls and spoons to the low table that they eat at, and a sleepy Sokka hauling a pot full of soup over. They ladle the meal into bowls, and Katara passes the first one to Kanna, before they sit down and pull their own bowls towards them.

Hakoda leans over to kiss Kanna’s cheek, and says, “Good morning, mom. Morning, Sokka, Katara.”

The kids - not really kids now, Hakoda reminds himself - mumble sleepy ‘morning, dad, morning, bato’ back, as they bring spoonfuls of warm broth to their mouths. Bato sits down and accepts a bowl from Kanna, scoots to the side to give Hakoda more room to crouch to the floor, and then instinctually moves closer to him once he’s seated. 

Breakfast starts out quiet, but as their bowls lighten Sokka and Katara perk up and start chatting animatedly about their plans for the day. Hakoda smiles, watching his children grow excited as they explain their agendas. Bato occasionally chimes in with “Sokka, slow down when you’re eating,” or a, “Don’t try to fight with the Northerners, Katara. At least, not until we’ve actually signed any agreements. You can wait a few more days if you want to freeze them.”

As breakfast comes to a close, Hakoda and Bato get up to go back to work. This time the wind that greets them as they leave their home is more welcoming, less biting, even though the temperature has barely changed. Others are out now and wave and shout greetings as they go about their business. 

The day’s work is necessary and irritating. The Northerners seem determined to take control of the restoration of the south, seem perfectly content with criticizing the southern architecture, the southern styles of hunting, southern clothes, southern slang, even though any noticeable difference comes because the North ignored them for so many years. It doesn’t help that they seem to value Bato’s word less than Hakoda’s, no matter how many times other council members try to gently inform them that the second-in-command is at the meetings for a reason. 

“Everything is changing,” Hakoda sighs into his arms, hunched over his papers, as soon as everyone else files out of the meeting room. Bato gets a little laugh and places a slender hand on Hakoda’s back. 

“That tends to happen,” Bato says, voice dry but humoured. The hand starts moving in little circles as Hakoda lets out a groan.

“It’s annoying.”

“I know, dear.”

“ _They’re_ annoying.”

“Trust me, I know, dear.”

“... It’s hard.”

“I know, Koda.” Bato leans down and presses a quick kiss to the top of Hakoda’s head, a rare expression of semi-public intimacy. “But you’re doing a good job.”

Hakoda turns his head in his arms to look at Bato. “I am?”

“Don’t go fishing for compliments.” Bato rolls his eyes and moves to stand up. He holds out a hand to help Hakoda to his feet. Hakoda’s knees ache as he stands.

“I feel old,” He pouts, as he takes a few jerky steps to stretch out his legs. 

“Well, you’re not young,” Bato throws over his shoulder as leaves the room.

The day outside of meetings is good. Village business mostly, business that is both familiar and new, like an old coat that Hakoda forgot he had but still fits him. There are a few new faces, new children that stumble in the snow and over hard words when they talk to Hakoda, new adults that have joined the village after the tribes reestablished communication, and new visitors that are just passing by as they search for better hunting grounds or promising trade deals. Hakoda can’t remember a time when there were so many people in one place, simply because they wanted to be there. 

Eventually, after a few more arguments about development, a few moments spent applauding a toddler’s first attempt at fishing, and a few minutes stole away to be alone with Bato, the day begins to come to a close. Hakoda isn’t quite as tired as he was when he was fighting - and it’s a different kind of tired, too - but it’s a close thing. His eyes feel heavy and his shoulder bumping against Bato’s isn’t purely just to bug the taller man. At the entrance of their home, they pause for a moment. They can smell the scent of dinner wafting to them, they can hear the clamour of Katara and Sokka and Kanna as they chat about their day. The sky is dark once again and stars peek through the darkness. No one is outside except for Hakoda and Bato. 

Bato turns to Hakoda, pulls a glove off and places a long, slender hand against the side of Hakoda’s face. His scarred thumb rubs circles against Hakoda’s cheekbone and Hakoda closes his eyes and leans into the comfort of it. Hakoda places a hand on Bato’s hip, less boney than it used to be, and softened through the layers of leather and fur. 

The wind seems to avoid them now, giving them privacy as they take in their moment together. Bato leans in and presses a kiss to Hakoda’s lips, the chapped skin scratching Hakoda in a comfortingly familiar way. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against Hakoda’s, the tips of their noses still brushing one another. The warmth from Bato’s breath is like a second kiss, protecting Hakoda from the cold. 

They hear a clattering from inside, then the squawk of Sokka and Katara yelling at each other as Kanna tries to calm them. Hakoda sighs.

“We should probably go in to break those two apart,” He says, as he hears a second _thud_ followed by more yelling, though there’s laughter mixed in it. 

“Probably. Your children are a couple of menaces,” Bato replies, voice so dry and flat that the statement couldn’t be anything except a joke.

“Don’t forget my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, Kanna makes sure that I don’t forget about her.”

Hakoda lets out a small laugh, before stretching up to press a quick peck against Bato’s chin, earning him an eye roll and pinch to the cheek as he turns to walk inside. 

The warmth from inside the house both soothes and brings attention to the aches in Hakoda’s back, shoulders, and hands. Katara tries her healing on them, but it helps only temporarily, and Hakoda doesn’t want to worry her by frequently requesting it. Kanna gives him a knowing, unsympathetic look and says, “When I was your age, I was as spry as a caribou-hare! It’s all this sitting and writing that’s given you this pain.”

“Mom, I remember when you were my age. You complained about your hips nightly.” Hakoda earns a soft whack to the back of his head, getting chuckles and snorts in response from everything in his family. 

When he and Bato get into their room, lighting their own fire and shedding their day clothes, Bato pulls Hakoda’s wrists towards him, rubbing gentle circles into the skin. 

“I’m getting old,” Hakoda whined, perpetually again. 

“So you keep saying,” Bato replies, as he hands Hakoda the salve to rub into his scar. It’s a calming process, watching Bato remove his shirt and bindings before dipping his own hand into the tingling ointment, rubbing it into the textured skin that covers Bato’s torso. From where Hakoda sits to massage it in, the lines in Bato’s face seem to flicker as the fire moves, appearing deep and prominent and then disappearing as the light changes. He looks beautiful in a way that Hakoda can never seem to convey, not that Bato has ever seemed to need reassurance in any part of his life. 

It only takes a few minutes to finish, and then Bato is flexing his fingers and scowling at the slippery sensation. 

“It’s gross,” He always says. Hakoda laughs as he gets up, and carries on with their nighttime routine. 

Bato always waits a few extra minutes before climbing into bed, not wanting to get the greasy ointment on any of their furs. In the privacy of their room, Bato lets Hakoda wrap his arms around his chest, lets Hakoda rest his cheek against his collarbones, and wraps his own arms around Hakoda’s broad shoulders. 

They sway together, silent except for the occasional hums of contentment that worm their way out of their chests, and every once in a while Hakoda spins them in nonsensical fashions, grinning when he feels Bato’s chest leap with silent laughter. 

Loving Bato has freed Hakoda in a way he never expected, filling some of the void left by the absence of Kya. It’s not the same, not better, or worse, but it is fulfilling and warm in his chest. Despite all the aches, the deepening lines of his wrinkles, and the grey that keeps cropping up in his hair, Hakoda’s love for Bato makes him feel young. Excited and shy and bold and nervous, in a way that he hasn’t felt for years. 

Hakoda can’t quite tell if that’s how Bato feels. He gets the feeling that Bato has loved him for much longer than he’s admitted to. Maybe loving Hakoda feels natural, feels normal, is just as routine as waking up early and helping Kanna with the dishes after dinner and as unremarkable as helping Sokka reach tall things off of shelves. Perhaps Bato feels relief in loving Hakoda, the calming reassurance of consistency that has been developed over years and years. 

Hakoda isn’t opposed to that thought, though he knows Bato would never admit to it, even if it’s true. “Your ego astounds me,” Hakoda can almost hear Bato say, choking the words out through a fierce blush. 

Bato presses a kiss to the side of Hakoda’s nose, breaking his train of thought, before pressing another kiss to his forehead and then lips. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Bato whispers. Hakoda nods, and forces Bato into one more ridiculous spin- Bato having to hunch over to turn underneath Hakoda’s outstretched arm - on their way to bed. Even after the absence of their bodies all day, the furs are warm and inviting when they lay down. The embers of their dying fire pop and crackle as Hakoda snuggles into the soft comfort of Bato’s chest. He rubs gentle circles on the small of Bato’s back and smiles as he feels a slender hand petting his hair gently. 

“Goodnight, Bato,” Hakoda mumbles, already feeling the comforting grasp of sleep grabbing for him.

“Night, old man,” Bato replies, earning him a grumble. “Kidding, kidding. Goodnight, Koda. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Hakoda whispers, pressing his lips against the thrum of Bato’s heart. 

The chill of the night embraces the space around them but seems to respect where they lay, for now, letting them sleep in warmth and peace. The aches and pains seem to melt away, leaving nothing by comfort in their absence, as exhaustion takes over. In the moments between sleep and wakefulness, Hakoda still doesn’t feel young, doesn’t feel like the rowdy teen that pulled pranks on his mother, or the young newly-wed with a child on the way, or even like the recent widow that still feels so close to who he is now. But in the comforting embrace of love and routine, Hakoda feels his years, but he feels them happily.

**Author's Note:**

> What if God said, "Don't get attached to one dimensional dilfs from a cartoon" and I said, "No <3"


End file.
